2014

On our way to Florida, we passed through a place in Virginia where we saw a road sign advertising “Prince William Recreational Area”. Lorraine asked me who Prince William was. I replied that he was probably someone from the British royal family back in the day when the area was first colonized. But she wouldn’t let it go. It didn’t seem right to her that here in America, where we have no titled nobility, a public facility should be named after a bloody English lord! After a while, I had to agree, and I told her so. “Believe me Lorraine, as offended as you are, I am even more offended. Why? First, because I take offense easily (What? That’s a crime now??); and second, because of my well-known and long-standing animosity to anything British. Having settled the matter temporarily, we decided to let it go until sometime in the future when we can return to the area for a more extended stay, get elected to local office, and right this wrong once and for all. Later in the evening, we went to Cracker Barrel for their fabulous Sunday night fried chicken dinner. And trust me, if you were here, you would too. It has the batter right on the meat, the skin having been removed. As it always should have been, right? Anyway, Lorraine couldn’t finish hers, and wanted a take home box for it. I called the waitress over and explained the situation, asking her opinion. “Lindsay”, I said, “perhaps you could settle this for us. You see, my wife thinks she needs to take the rest of her chicken home; but gentleman that I am, I offered to finish it right now so that she doesn’t have to. What do you think we should do?” Sensing that her tip was riding on the answer, Lindsay diplomatically replied that when she takes home her leftovers, her boyfriend generally eats it before she can ever get to it. She and Lorraine bonded over that one, and the 20% was assured.